I stare at the ceiling, one hand under the pillow. The other knows exactly what it wants. I reach into my bag,pull out the vibrator I packed like the good, responsible adult I pretend to be, just in case.
I lie back, press it between my legs, and even before I switch it on, I know where my mind’s already going—no fantasy needed. I think about his hands, his mouth. That look in his eyes earlier, hungry but restrained, like he wanted me and hated himself for it. I close my eyes and let myself go.
That low rasp of my name in his voice. The way he used to say it was like I wasn’t just someone, I washissomeone. My nipples tighten under my shirt as I roll one between my fingers. My body responds instantly. The vibrator hums to life, my hips shifting, chasing the pressure. My thighs fall open. Breath shaky, spilling out too fast.
I picture him over me, mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my waist. That sound he made right before he lost control. The rhythm builds, faster, harder. My body arches, grinding into the toy, chasing it, needing it. His voice in my head, my name breaking me apart.
The orgasm rips through me, sharp and deep. My back arches, breath stuttering out silently. Tight, then loose, leaving me raw, empty, and wrecked. I blink at the ceiling, chest heaving, skin damp. And it hits me, cold and brutal.
I didn’t think about David.
Not once.
Shit.
The morning comes quietly,just a ray of sunshine creeping through the window. I glance at my cellphone, which I forgot to charge last night, with all thedistractions. It’s almost ten in the morning. I haven’t slept this much since before being a mother—shit, even before owning a company—so that's nearly ten years.
The smell of coffee drifts up the stairs, rich and warm. I want it like oxygen. Even as I brush my teeth and wash my face, he’s there. Ethan. His eyes. That stare. This is hell, being back here, carrying him like a ghost in my head.
I grab my laptop, my phones, both chargers, and head downstairs. “Good morning, Olivia.” I stop short. Anne. She’s at the counter, bright smile in place, handing me a mug. Did she spend the night? Weird. “Morning, Anne. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Oh, I decided to come early to help your mom with breakfast. I didn’t want her to be alone today.” I bite my tongue. She’s not alone. Julia and I are here. But sure, Anne. “How thoughtful of you,” I say, forcing a smile. She beams and passes me a coffee. Damn it. It smells amazing.
Julia wanders in a minute later with bed hair and a raised eyebrow, shooting me a what the fuck is going on? Look. I shake my head. Anne does the same routine,hands her a mug, then breezes out to the porch where Mom and Dad are talking. “This is hell,” Julia mutters. She’s not wrong. I laugh and open my computer to see if I can get some work done. And when I turn on my work phone, all the messages and voicemails come buzzing. “Oh fuck” Julia leans closer. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just work piling up. I need to get through this.”
“Yeah, sure, you want to go grab brunch downtown later?”
“That sounds amazing, give me one hour,” She just nods, and goes my way to try and calm the chaos. The thing about work is that I’m the boss, but I’m also an employee because, of course, no one does things the way I want to, so I end up doing it myself.
In this field, presence is everything. When you work with small businesses or even big companies, if you don’t have a strong presence, you are out of the game. And I can’t be out of anything. This year so far, my company has made over 4.2 million dollars, which in any other industry might not seem like a lot, but in the Marketing industry and for a ‘small agency’ like the papers like to call us. It is.
CHAPTER SIX
ETHAN
The buzzof my phone yanks me awake. I roll over, squint at the screen—two missed calls from Hannah. I sit up, rub my face, and call her back. She picks up on the second ring. She sounds like she is already halfway through her day, and if it’s barely 10 a.m. here, it’s what? 8 a.m. over there? She should be waking up, not this awake. “Hey, love,” she says. The cold floor under my feet jolts me as I stand. “Did I wake you up, honey?”
“No, no. Already up.” I don’t know why I lied. “You didn’t call last night. Figured you passed out, and I didn’t want to add more stress to your day. How are you holding up?” I glance at the mirror. Jaw tight. Eyes shadowed. I look exactly how I feel. Sad, tired, mad, and all the terrible feelings in the world.
“Yesterday was hard,” I say, keeping it simple. “But I’m glad it’s over.” Which is true. “Oh, honey. I can imagine. I wish I were there with you.” And I know she does.But it’s better this way. I didn’t want the girls to have this memory of their grandmother, to put them through this pain that they don’t understand just yet. Although that’s true, another part of me didn’t want to be a son, brother, husband, and dad while dealing with this grief. So, I decided to be a son and a brother. Maybe it’s selfish, but honestly, I don’t care. I don’t need more pain than I can carry, and I don’t need them to carry a pain they don’t deserve.
“I know, love. Don’t sweat it.” There’s laughter and chaos in the background, and God, I miss those little brats. One of them is yelling about socks, probably Claire. “They wanted to say hi.” A text pings. I check it. Picture of her and the girls, still in their pajamas, Claire mid-scream, Leight grinning like a tiny maniac. “They look happy,” I say, staring too long. “They miss you.”
“I miss them too.” And of course, I do. “We’ll call later?”
“Please do.”
“I love you, Ethan.”
“I love you too.” The line goes dead, and I stare at the screen. This is my life, my family, the one I built. So why the fuck did I spend all night thinking about someone else? I step into the shower and crank the heat until the room fills with steam. Press my palms flat against the tile, head down. Olivia’s in my head like she never left. Like I never left her.
The way she said my name. It’s still fucking echoing. I try to shake it, but it creeps back in. The memory of her mouth on mine. That sound she made when I used to kissjust below her jaw. I groan. My hand drops without hesitation. Guilt sparks, but it doesn’t stop me. I stroke slowly at first, like it’s a warm-up. But the image of her sharpens everything. Her thighs around my waist. Her nails are dragging down my back. My pace quickens. Hips tense. Breath ragged. If she were here, I know she’d feel even better.
Fuck.
I came hard and fast. A full-body thing that rips through me and leaves me sagging against the tile, chest heaving. Steam clings to me like the guilt I wish I could wash off. I rinse off like I’m trying to erase it. But it doesn’t go anywhere.
